


Positive Reinforcement

by Bunnywest



Series: Thighs Verse [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Biker Peter Hale, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Good Peter Hale, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Married Couple, Threesome - M/M/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26540554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: When Stiles learns to control his shift, Peter offers him a reward.Chris.Chris is the reward.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale, Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Chris Argent/Stiles Stilinski, Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Thighs Verse [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1499069
Comments: 67
Kudos: 680





	1. Chapter 1

“Hands where I put them, pet, and stop squirming,” Peter reminds him with a raised eyebrow, and Stiles sighs and obediently settles his hands back where they’d been tangled in Peter’s hair, knowing Peter won’t go back to sucking him off until he obeys. “Better. Now let’s try this again,” Peter says with a smirk, and Stiles takes deep, even breaths as Peter wraps his talented mouth back around Stiles’s cock with a filthy slurping sound.

The asshole’s doing it on purpose, Stiles is certain of it. Peter _knows_ that the sounds and smells of sex pull Stiles’s wolf close to the surface, but he's making those noises anyway. Stiles is fairly sure it’s cheating somehow, and he intends to complain about it - later, after he’s gotten to enjoy this awesome blowjob.

Stiles prays to whoever’s listening that this time, he’ll keep his shift under control. He hasn’t managed it so far, but he’s getting better, and his Alpha’s promised him a reward if he can do it today. Stiles desperately wants to be in charge of his wolf, not the other way round.

It’s not going to take much to tip him over the edge, not when Stiles hasn’t been allowed to come for _four whole days. I_ n fairness to Peter though, Stiles _did_ sink a claw into Peter’s balls, and he doesn't blame Peter for insisting Stiles work on his control before he be allowed anywhere near him naked.

He closes his eyes and lets himself savour the wet warmth of Peter’s mouth and the heat of broad palms against his thighs as Peter sets out to take him apart in that expert way of his. His hands tighten in Peter’s hair just the tiniest bit when Peter starts to tongue at his slit, and he has to remind himself to focus, slow his breathing, and listen to Peter's heartbeat, but he deliberately works to pull the wolf back. For a wonder, it works.

Peter hums around his length, takes Stiles’s cock in right down to the base, drawing a groan from him and making him shudder. Clever hands roll Stiles’s balls, tugging at them lightly, just this side of too much. It’s exactly how he likes it. Stiles’s body thrums with need, a frisson of pleasure running down his spine, and one heel starts to drum against the mattress.

His fingertips tingle.

Deep, slow breaths.

The claws don’t come out.

Peter sucks and slurps, wet and messy and so fucking hot, and when Stiles looks down the length of his body and is greeted by the sight of Peter’s tousled hair with his own fingers wrapped in the strands, it makes his breath catch with how unbearably erotic it is.

Peter starts mouthing at Stiles’s length again, licking up and down the shaft, little puffs of hot air against wet skin a shiver-inducing contrast. Stiles feels like he might burst into flames any second, desperately wants to curl his fingers tightly in Peter’s hair and hold him there, wants to fuck up into Peter’s mouth. His wolf whines to be allowed out, but Stiles focuses on staying in control.

The claws don’t come out.

Peter makes a sound like approval, and when he takes Stiles back in his mouth this time he applies exactly enough suction to make Stiles whimper as his dick throbs and his balls tighten in that glorious familiar way. Then Peter does a tricky little move with his tongue that narrows every point of awareness down to the unbearable pleasure of hot mouth on cock, and when he does it again it sends Stiles flying over the edge, tumbling into bliss, into an explosion of pleasure, nerve endings crying out their rapture. Stiles glimpses, briefly, what he thinks is the face of god.

His release crashes over him like waves against a rocky shore as he comes harder than he has in weeks, months, years, a lifetime, and he’s shaky and panting by the time his cock stops spurting into Peter's willing throat.

Peter soothes him through the aftershocks, mouthing gently at the sensitive flesh of his cock as Stiles’s heart gradually stops trying to thunder out of his chest and his breathing returns to something approaching normal.

Finally, his eyes flutter open, and he inhales deeply.

Peter’s _pleased_. Stiles can smell it. Stiles always thought that the whole werewolf super-senses thing was overstated, part of some sort of supernatural dick-measuring contest maybe, but _wow_ , was he wrong.

His senses are so finely tuned now that not only can he hear a metaphorical pin drop, he can smell the annoyance of the metaphorical seamstress who dropped it--everything’s dialed up to eleven. And right now, he can smell the pride and pleasure rolling off Peter in waves, thick and rich and so heady that he kinda wants to roll in it.

“Sweetheart?” Peter’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “You can let go of my hair now.”

Stiles peers down at where he’s still tugging on Peter’s hair. He sees that there's a smear of ink from his pen on the thumb of one hand, but there’s not a claw in sight. He forgot, right at the end, to concentrate on holding back his shift, but it seems it didn’t matter.

“You did it, pet,” Peter says, grinning. “You kept control.” He props himself up on his elbows, and the sight of him sprawled between Stiles’s spread legs like that kind of makes Stiles want to go again. He can, now - it’s one of the best parts of being a wolf. His dick twitches and starts to fill, and Peter gives an amused snort.

“I forget that you don't need recovery time, now.” He leans in and licks a stripe up Stiles’s dick and yep, he’s fully hard again, just like that.

“Can I ride, you, Sir?” Stiles asks, peeking coyly through his lashes. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have considered it after the mind-blowing sex they just had - his legs would have still been jelly. Now, though? Werewolf perks.

Peter scoots up the bed and reaches across him, grabbing the lube from the bedside table. “Absolutely, pet. We have four days of lost time to make up for. Besides, a good alpha always makes sure his pack has control.”

“And you are an excellent alpha,” Stiles agrees, and then Peter’s rolling him over, and there are lube -slick fingers slipping inside him, thick and familiar and oh, so good, and soon he forgets to even ask what his reward is.

Stiles thinks briefly that even if it was just this, being happy and in love and well fucked, it would be reward enough.

* * *

They have sex four more times before Stiles taps out, and afterwards he tips his back in submission, exposing his jugular just to hear Peter’s pleased growl, to feel sharp teeth nipping lightly at the soft skin of his throat. It makes him feel owned all the way down to his _bones_ , just like he’d thought it would, and he can’t get enough of it.

It took some time after he asked Peter for the bite for it to actually happen - as happy as he was about the whole thing, Peter refused to just bite him on the fly, instead scheduling it the same way they would if Stiles needed, say, minor surgery - not that he’ll ever need that again. “You’ll need time to recover,” Peter had insisted. “At least a week, maybe two.”

Stiles had been forced to admit that it seemed sensible, no matter how impatient he was now that he’d made the decision. And he’d just had a vacation, was still new to his role at work, and Peter had Beth to settle into the pack, so it had taken three long months before there was a window of time.

Of course during that three months, they talked about it endlessly, and more than once Peter had pounded him into the mattress while growling in his ear, “Going to bite you, _keep_ you,” in a way that sent shivers down Stiles’s spine in all the best ways.

When Peter had finally turned him, it had gone better than Stiles could have hoped for. It’s only been a matter of weeks since he took the bite, but he already knows he made the right call. Stiles fucking _loves_ being a wolf.

Except, he’s had issues holding his wolf back whenever things are getting hot and heavy between him and Peter. He’s clawed up more than one set of sheets, ruined a pillow or two, and left long lines down Peter’s back, and it isn’t okay. The final straw was when he clawed Peter’s nuts.

He’d been mortified, and after some discussion they’d both decided it was sink or swim time, which has led to this - _four fucking days_ of chastity in the stupid cage that Stiles loves to hate (but also loves just a little bit.)

Four long, sexless days of focus, anchor, breathe, shift, anchor, concentrate, shift, breathe, rinse and repeat, until this morning Peter had dangled the tiny key, raised an eyebrow and said, “I think you’re ready.”

Stiles is able to admit to himself now, lying here in a puddle of come and self-satisfaction, that he hadn’t been sure he _was_ ready, but he’d agreed anyway, because the cage is fucking awful. He’s used to getting to come pretty much as often as he wants, and those four days had felt like fifty years.

Worth it though, to get control, because control means sex, and werewolf sex is _awesome_. Stiles can move in ways he never thought he could, has a fluidity and grace that he’s never before possessed, not to mention the extra sensitivity and the added layer of scent and taste that’s dialed up to eleven now. He smiles to himself and sighs happily.

He lays there content and doesn’t move, not when he feels Peter get out of bed, not when a warm cloth wipes him clean, not when Peter climbs back into bed and curls up around him again. He drifts, happy to be the little spoon. The claws didn't come out, and he got fucked through the mattress. Today is a good day. 

When Stiles opens his eyes again, the pattern of light on the wall has shifted enough for him to know that they both must have slept for at least an hour. It takes a second for him to register that he’s been woken by Peter placing kisses at the base of his neck and wrapping a hand around his cock which, no surprises there, is rock-hard. “Whu?” he mumbles, still fuzzy.

“Shhh pet, let me,” Peter growls low in his ear, and Stiles relaxes and just goes with it, letting his eyes drift closed again. Peter jerks him off with slow, languid strokes, and it’s perfect, and when Stiles comes it’s more like the ocean lapping gently at the shore than the thunderous breaking waves of before, and he loves it anyway.

His cock spurts lazily as Peter coaxes him through it, and when it’s over Stiles hums in satisfaction. He’s slightly more awake now, manages to roll over and prop himself up on his elbows, taking in the sight of Peter all bed-headed and wearing a wicked smile, looking far too smug.

“What? What’s that look?”

Peter grins. “I was thinking about your reward, pet.”

“Oh?” Stiles sits all the way up in bed.

Peter sits up as well, elbows resting on wide--spread knees, sheets pooling around his waist. He looks like fucking sin wrapped in skin, and Stiles kind of wants to get fucked again, but he also wants to know what his reward is - life’s full of tough choices.

In the end, he pushes down the surge of lust. “What did you have planned?”

Peter smirks, and it’s filthy. “I was wondering, sweetheart, what you thought about inviting a certain barman over for a night?”

Oh hell yes, Stiles is _so_ on board with that idea. They’ve done it before, and it’s still burned into Stiles’s memory as one of the single hottest nights of his life--he’d proposed to Peter afterwards. “Really?”

“Really. I’m sure Christopher would be more than willing.”

Stiles thinks about last time, and something occurs to him. He’s a werewolf now, with all that entails, and that opens up some possibilities. Chris’s cock had been intimidating last time and he’d begged off, but now? “What if--” Stiles bites his lip, but presses ahead,“What--what if this time, I want to let Chris fuck me?”

Peter lets out a low groan at that, and his eyes flare red.“Sweetheart, I would _love_ to see it.”

”And your wolf won’t get jealous now we’re married? Or because you’re my alpha?” Stiles doesn’t _think_ it’ll be a problem or Peter wouldn’t have suggested it, but he needs to hear it said.

Peter hooks a fingertip through the chain of Stiles’s triskele pendant, the one he wears as a reminder of who he belongs to-as if Stiles could ever forget. “Not at all. You’re _mine_ , pet, through and through. I’m just choosing to share. So, shall I call him?”

Stiles closes his eyes and thinks of long, lean limbs, of ink and stubble, of two cocks fucking him one after the other all night long, of how that would all feel to his wolf, how overwhelming it would be for his new senses. A whimper escapes him, his cock throbs, and Peter chuckles, because of _course_ he already knows what the answer will be.

Stiles whispers, “Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a monster who made you wait two whole weeks for this, I know. But real life and stocktake and a constant stream of houseguests, plus book stuff for the new release kinda got in the way. ( You can read about said book stuff on my [Tumblr](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/630292397409157120/adventures-in-aguillon))
> 
> I hope it was worth the wait!

Stiles hears Chris’s heartbeat long before the swipe and beep of his keycard - he must stand outside the hotel room door for a full minute. They were meant to check in at four, but Peter wasn’t letting Chris get the drop on him like last time, and so they checked in at two.

Peter’s been in his ass since three.

“Well, this is a hell of a sight,” Chris says when he finally comes inside, and even if Stiles couldn’t smell the lust in the air, he’d be able to hear it in that sinful, gravel-deep fuck-me voice.

In the three weeks since he learned to control his shift, Stiles has found that he’s insatiable. He’s spent his days at work trying not to get distracted thinking about Peter and his pierced cock and how good it feels, and his nights begging shamelessly for Peter to _just get it in me-- please, Sir._

Peter's been happy to oblige of course, laughing and rolling his eyes, calling Stiles a ‘greedy little monster’ before fucking him through the mattress vigorously and repeatedly, just like he’s doing now.

Peter continues his rhythm of deep, solid thrusts. He’s standing at the foot of the bed with Stiles flat on his back, legs draped over his shoulders as he nails him nice and slow for the fourth time since they arrived. Stiles is a fucked-out mess and he’s enjoying every second of it, the anticipation of what’s coming making everything better. He lets out a low grunt with every snap of Peter's hips, hears the way the sound makes Chris’s heartbeat speed up, smells the wave of arousal that rolls off him.

“Are you planning to just stand there and watch?” Peter asks, grinding in deep just to make Stiles moan louder, “Or were you going to get over here sometime soon?”

“I dunno,” Chris says, “your boy looks so pretty when he’s getting fucked. Maybe I just wanna watch for a while.”

“Suit yourself,“ Peter says, “but just so you know, I’ve been in this hole for an hour loosening him up. Wanted to get him all stretched out and sloppy so you’ll slide in nice and easy when you fuck him. Do you think you’ll fit?”

 _“_ When I _what?”_ Stiles doesn’t miss Chris’s sharp intake of breath, and grins up at Peter. They didn’t tell Chris beforehand because Peter always did like to have the upper hand, and Stiles wanted to see Chris’s reaction. He might say no, but Stiles really doesn’t think he will.

“Stiles has decided he’d like to put his new stamina to the test, wants to see if you can fit that monster of yours up his ass. I’m helping. If you’re interested?” Peter sounds exceptionally pleased with himself.

Stiles shoots Chris a grin. “What do you say, Chris?” he pants out over the wet slap of skin on skin. “One time offer.”

Chris lets out something like a growl, and the next thing Stiles knows there’s the weight of a body hitting the bed next to him and Chris is crowding into the space between him and Peter, cupping his jaw and kissing him hard, all tongue and stubble and muttered curses. When he pulls back from the kiss, Chris is grinning, his ice-blue eyes gleaming in anticipation. “You really think you can take me, baby?”

Stiles doesn’t answer right away, because Peter chooses that moment to nail his prostate and he can’t speak for a few seconds as his body lights up with pleasure. When he gets his breath back though, he says, “Wanna try. Wanna feel it. Please?”

“It would be such a shame to waste all my hard work,” Peter purrs, hips still rolling, the piercing in his cock rubbing and stretching Stiles in achingly good ways. He hitches Stiles’s legs up further and clamps his hands onto his hips, pulling him in close, and the change in angle makes everything a thousand times better. A shudder runs through Stiles and he moans, long and filthy.

“Fuck, baby,” Chris growls out. He gets off the bed and shucks his shirt off over his head, then kicks off his boots and scrambles out of his pants. He’s just as gorgeous as Stiles remembered him being, and Stiles takes a minute to appreciate the sight of lean, sinewy limbs and tattooed skin, and the flex and twist of Chris’s abs as he stretches, grinning wickedly.

He slots himself back on the bed next to Stiles, running a hand from his throat down to his hips, lingering over the triskele tattoo. “You look good in ink,” he comments, and then leans in for another kiss.

Stiles makes a tiny noise of acknowledgement against Chris's lips, then turns his head to the side so he can capture Chris’s mouth better, and it just adds to the myriad of sensations rolling through him, engulfing but not overwhelming - not now he’s a wolf. If he were still human maybe it would be too much, but now, being able to hear and feel everything more intensely just makes it a whole other level of pretty fucking awesome.

Chris’s scent and stubble are different to Peter’s, but it’s _good_ different, and Stiles soaks it up. This isn't the first marathon session he and Peter have had since Stiles managed to rein in his wolf - hell, it’s not even the first one this week-but the anticipation of knowing that when Sir has fucked him nice and open and is done with him it’ll be Chris’s turn is making this better than it has any right to be. Stiles loves the thought that Peter’s been working him up to this, preparing him to be stretched wide and filled.

Peter picks up the pace of his thrusts and Stiles can tell he’s close from the way his breathing quickens and his eyes flash. Stiles reaches down to grab his own cock, close enough that he knows a few quick strokes will allow them to get off at the same time, but a firm hand clamps around his wrist and Chris stops kissing him long enough to rumble out,”Let me.” Stiles’s dick is wrapped in a warm, broad palm, different from the nimble fingers he’s used to, and then Chris starts to fucking _tease_ , stroking him slowly, just enough to make him desperate. Stiles finds himself rocking back and forth between the relentless cock in his ass and the not-quite-enough friction on his dick, whining for more.

Chris _laughs,_ the fucker, but he does speed up his movements, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive head of Stiles’s cock to collect the wetness there and spreading it around so everything’s slick, the action bringing Stiles ever closer to the edge. He’s _right there_ , and it barely takes one-two-three jerks for Stiles to come, cock spurting over Chris’s knuckles. Stiles shivers at the pleasure that rolls over him, and his sensitive ass does its best to clench, just as Peter growls and slams in hard, hips stilling as he pumps out his release. Chris’s hand slows, gentle now, and he presses a soft kiss to Stiles’s temple. “Always so pretty when you come, baby,” he murmurs, pleased.

Stiles lets out a fucked-out sigh as all his muscles relax and he lets his legs slip off Peter’s shoulders, leaving him splayed and spread wide like a broken doll, feet still hooked somewhere around the vicinity of Peter’s elbows.

“Isn’t he, though?” Peter says, cupping Stiles’s cheek affectionately. “My good boy.” Stiles smiles dopily up at him, warmth spreading through his core at the praise from his Sir. Peter chuckles and says, “Shall we show Christopher how ready you are for him, sweetheart, how well you’ve taken my cock so that you can take his?”

And even though he’s only just come, something about the idea of Chris looking at his ass, _inspecting_ him, makes Stiles’s cheeks burn, his heart race, and his cock twitch with nervous anticipation. Peter slides Stiles’s legs all the way off his shoulders and pulls out with an obscene squelch, kissing him deeply before saying “Roll over for me and put that lovely ass in the air, pet.”

Stiles does as he’s told, chest against the bed, arms at his sides so his hands are brushing his ankles, legs spread wide, blushing into the pillow that’s under his cheek. Firm hands pull his ass cheeks apart and cool air ghosts over his exposed hole. He can only imagine what it looks like - creamy, sloppy, cored open. He fights the urge to snap his legs shut, instead glancing up at Chris, who’s moved to sit on the end of the bed and is staring in blatant admiration at -

Peter's dick. Or rather, at the fat gold ring that hangs from the head of Peters dick.

“You got your dick pierced,” Chris says, one eyebrow raised. “Of course you did.”

Peter gives a truly impressive eyeroll. “Old news, Christopher. And not what you’re here for. You’re here for _this_.” Two fingers slip easily into Stiles’s loose hole, tugging and stretching him out as Peter spreads his fingers, making the nerve endings light up at the added stimulation. “Do you think you’ll fit,” Peter asks, “or do I need to fuck him again just to be sure?” He twists his fingers cleverly and adds a third, rubbing right across Stiles’s prostate, making Stiles twitch and moan and struggle to stay still, a part of him wanting to slither away up the bed because everything’s just _so fucking sensitive_. “Stay, pet,” Peter’s other hand settles on the small of Stiles’s back, a reminder of who’s in charge.

Stiles stays.

He squirms and whines as Peter casually fingers him, the wet sounds of lube and come loud in the otherwise quiet room, but he stays. And it certainly gets Chris's attention back where it’s meant to be. “Would you look at that,” he says, his voice hushed. “You really have fucked him open for me.”

“Trust me,” Peter smirks, “It was no hardship.” Peter presses a fourth finger in and Stiles lets out a gasp of surprise, arching his spine. The hand on his lower back makes soothing circles. “Settle, pet. Take what I give you.” Stiles breathes deep and wills his muscles to relax, and Peter lets out something like a purr of approval. “That’s my good boy. I think you’re ready, hmm?”

“Yessir,” Stiles agrees.

Chris licks his lips, gaze hungry. “Can I-” his hand twitches,but he hesitates. Stiles waits for Peter to answer but he’s uncharacteristically silent, and Stiles realizes then Chris was asking _him_ , not Sir. He gets a warm glow at Chris taking the time to ask, when it’s obvious he’s desperate to get his hand in there.

Stiles has control of his wolf, but it still comes to the fore when Peter’s worked him over good and he’s fucked-out-stupid like now. Words start to slip away and he finds himself reduced to tiny wolf-like yips and growls. He’s not quite there yet, but he’s not far off it, so a breathy,“Uh huh,” is the best he can manage.

Chris takes it for the permission it is and doesn’t waste any time. The extra finger working its way relentlessly into Stiles’s ass is a _lot,_ given how full he already is, but it feels _so fucking good_. Stiles lets out a low groan and his hips buck and roll while his body tries to adjust to the new intrusion. Chris drags the fingertip round the inside of his stretched-out rim like he's scooping the last of the frosting from a mixing bowl, and Stiles shivers. ”Yeah, you’re ready. How you wanna do this, sweetheart?” Chris growls out in that sinful voice of his.

Stiles fishmouths for a few seconds as he tries to scrape a sentence together, and finally gets out, “Wanna - on top?”

“Any way you want.” All the fingers withdraw from Stiles’s ass leaving him empty and aching, then Chris crawls up the bed so he’s laying next to Stiles. He reaches out and rolls Stiles onto his side facing him and Stiles goes willingly, loose limbed and obedient. Chris drags a hand through Stiles’s tousled hair, tilting his head back, then kisses down the side of his throat, making Stiles keen at the contrast of a wet tongue and the scrape of stubble on the sensitive skin of his neck.

Peter croons, “That’s my good boy,” and fuck, hearing his Sir singing his praises? That will never _not_ do things to Stiles. His cock twitches and starts to fill, thickening rapidly against his thigh.

Chris moves down his body, stopping here and there - to press a kiss to his tattoo, to tease at his nipples - hot breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of Stiles’s belly, wide palms running down over his hip and the length of his thigh before sliding back up and cupping his ass. Stiles hums happily and his cock throbs with want. “Gonna fuck me now?”

The corners of Chris’s eyes crinkle attractively as he grins, and then he rolls onto his back and spreads his legs wide in invitation. “Get me wet?”

“Let me,” Peter purrs, and then he has his head between Chris's legs and his mouth on Chris’s cock, Chris arching up off the bed with a gasp. It’s hypnotic watching the way Peter moves, steady and smooth, Chris’s length sliding into his mouth and reappearing slick and wet, the veins pulsing along the length. Stiles grins to himself - Peter always did give spectacular head.

“Jesus,” Chris mutters, hips rolling, but Peter pins him with a forearm across his belly and pulls off to say, ”Don’t you dare come Christopher, I’m just getting you ready for my boy.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Always so fucking bossy.”

Peter arches an eyebrow. “What’s your point?” Then he licks a long stripe up Chris’s twitching cock before going back to what he was doing. Peter winks at Stiles and grins around his mouthful of cock, and Stiles knows Peter’s doing this just to put on a show for him, because he knows Stiles likes to watch.

Stiles starts stroking himself, because Christ on a bicycle, there’s what looks like acres of lean muscle twisting and moving under tattooed skin right there in front of him, and that’s something he’ll never get tired of seeing. The slick wet sounds Peter’s making, combined with Chris’s moans and the way he exposes his throat when he lets his head fall back, is hotter than fucking sin.

Stiles lets out a whine as his arousal builds, only able to think about taking that fat cock, being filled to bursting. Peter pulls off and lets his tongue flick one final time across the head of Chris’s cock before reaching for the lube, slicking his palm, and starting to work Chris in long, steady strokes. Chris’s breath stutters and the scent of _want_ rolls off him, thick and syrupy. Stiles can’t help but lean in and bury his face in the crook of Chris’s neck, inhaling deeply.

Peter chuckles softly at the wolf-like behavior. “Can you smell how desperate Christopher is, pet? Shall we give him what he wants?”

“Uh huh,” Stiles nods, nibbling along Chris’s collarbone because it would be a waste not to taste the tang of want-tainted sweat that’s gathered in the dip there. Chris hums at the sensation and Stiles slides across the bed until he’s sprawled across Chris, their bodies pressed together. Stiles leans in and kisses him, rolling his hips so their cocks brush, and Chris moans into his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you so good sweetheart, you still okay with that?” Chris asks breathlessly when their mouths part.

“Uh huh,” Stiles repeats, and sits up and settles back on his heels. He reaches down and takes Chris’s thick cock in hand, feeling the heft of it. He has a moment of hesitation - it’s _so fucking big-_ but it’s fleeting, there and gone. He wants this.

He eases himself up and starts to shuffle forward. A body settles behind him, Peter’s hand a steadying presence on his hip, his breath warm in Stiles’s ear. “Ready, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, and Stiles senses Peter’s concern, hears the unspoken question.

_Are you sure?_

He lets his weight rest against Peter for a second, tilting his head back in a gesture of reassurance and submission combined. “Help me, Sir?”

He’s sure.

Peter’s grip on Stiles’s hip tightens. “Such a good boy,” he growls against his throat.

“So fucking good,” Chris agrees with a predatory smile. “Gonna fill you up now, baby.”

Peter holds Chris’s cock in place and Stiles takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly when he feels the head pressing against his hole - hot, thick, blunt, and huge.

“That’s it pet, relax and let him in,” Peter murmurs in his ear. _Typical Sir_ , Stiles thinks to himself fondly. _Always has to be in control_.

The pressure against his rim increases, and Stiles is suddenly grateful for the fucked-out mess Peter’s made of his ass, for the way the muscle there is so soft and pliant now. There’s no way Chris would fit inside him otherwise, and even now, it makes his breath hitch when the head, followed that first fat inch, forces its way inside. Stiles pauses, overwhelmed, lets his body try and make sense of the extra stretch. Even with all their preparation, it’s a lot.

Stiles closes his eyes and fights the urge to drop his fangs as he does his best to convince his wolf that there’s no danger here. Chris strokes his thighs as he breathes through it, and having Peter wrapped around him helps, the presence of his Alpha inherently calming.

“Good pet, taking it so well,” Peter breathes in his ear, and Stiles melts at the praise, his body relaxing in a Pavlovian response. He eases himself down carefully, whimpering at the stretch that's just this side of too much as Chris slowly buries himself in Stiles’s guts, one inch at a time.

There’s a moment around the halfway mark where Stiles doesn’t think he can do it, that it’s too much, his ass protesting with a deep, throbbing ache. But at the same time it feels too damn good to stop. “Sir?” he whimpers, and Peter knows what he needs, doesn’t hesitate to use the hands on Stiles’s hips to press him relentlessly downward, forcing him to open up and take Chris all the way.

 _“Fuuuck.”_ Stiles groans at the sensation of having his insides rearranged, of being stretched to his absolute limit.

Chris laughs breathlessly while Peter makes nonsense noises of reassurance at him, and then the pair of them take over, and Stiles is nothing more than a willing passenger on this ride. Peter raises Stiles’s body up slowly and then eases him down, and every time he does it the slide becomes a little looser, a little easier, until his body gives in to the inevitable and stops resisting and Stiles is able to really enjoy the fucking Chris is giving him.

And he does enjoy it.

The drag of Chris’s cock is delicious against Stiles’s tender rim and sensitive nerve endings and Chris manages to find the angle that has him rubbing over Stiles’s prostate with every thrust, making Stiles cry out and shudder. Chris works his cock in and out expertly, grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat the whole time, and they settle into a steady rhythm that makes Stiles feel like he’s about to shake apart at the seams.

“That’s right, baby,” Chris murmurs, “Take it.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, all his attention taken up with the way Chris is filling him relentlessly, hips snapping up into his body as Peter holds him steady. Stiles is letting out drips and smears of precome with every thrust. If Peter hadn’t already fucked him as thoroughly as he had he thinks he would have blown his load, but now his climax is slower to build, an inexorably rising need that makes his cock throb in time with his heartbeat.

Peter’s hot against his back, and Stiles's sex addled brain nudges at him and reminds him that Peter always says he loves to see Stiles’s face when he comes. Stiles suddenly, desperately wants that, so he pats at Chris’s chest. “Wanna - “ words are _hard_ right now - ”turn round?”

Chris takes the time to grind in deep before answering. “We can do that.”

Stiles pushes up with strong werewolf thighs, and Chris’s cock slips out of him with a wet, sucking sound. The come and lube from earlier oozes out, warm and wet and messy, and the lack of a cock leaves him feeling open and empty, but he knows it’s only for a moment. “You - up,” Stiles mumbles, flapping his hands, and Chris shuffles up till his back’s against the headboard. Stiles nods, satisfied, and then turns around so he’s facing Peter and braces his legs wide, hands behind him gripping the sheets. He settles in place, and Chris fills him up in one fluid movement. His whole body rocks with the force of it when Chris starts to fuck him in earnest, but he keeps his gaze on Peter, willing him to understand what this is - that it’s for him.

Peter realizes immediately of course, and is delighted. “Why sweetheart, are you putting on a show for me?” he asks, eyes sparkling.

“Uh huh,” Stiles gets out as Chris’s arm wraps around his waist gripping him tighter and Chris drives in deeper. “Know - _hnngh_ \- you like - to - to see me.”

“Such a good boy for me.“ Peter's gaze flickers back and forth between where Chris is splitting Stiles open and where Stiles has his head thrown back panting, and Stiles notes the way his pupils darken with lust. Peter ghosts a hand over Stiles’s ribs before resting it on his belly. “ _Feel,_ ” he says, pressing down, and Stiles _can_ feel it, the hard outline of where Chris is inside him through the thin layer of flesh and muscle. It sends a thrill all the way through him and he grinds back against Chris, wanting more. Chris obliges, fucking in so deep that Stiles keens, and he’d swear he can feel Chris all the way up in his ribs.

They keep going like that until Chris moans and his movements speed up, his breathing becoming ragged and choppy, heartbeat racing. He's close, and he isn’t the only one - Stiles is all but there himself. Peter can tell, because of course he can, and he strokes Stiles’s cock in a way that has Stiles panting and gasping, right on the edge of coming. “Come, pet. Let me see you clench up,” Peter orders, voice tight - and it _is_ an order, one Stiles wouldn’t dream of disobeying.

Stiles makes a broken, hitching sound as he comes, and his ass tightens and throbs around the cock buried deep inside him.

“Fuck,” Peter growls out, his other hand stripping his own cock rapidly until he adds to the mess. Chris lets out a moan, ramming in deep - two, three times - before stilling and letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

Stiles slumps back against him, body still twitching with aftershocks, and makes a similar noise. Peter leans forward and buries his face in the crook of Stiles’s neck, panting lightly, and the air is thick with the smell of sex and satisfaction.

Stiles shifts so he can drape his arms around Peter’s neck, and he finds himself being carefully lifted off Chris’s softening cock with a squelch that makes him ponder briefly what his ass must look like, but he finds he doesn’t really care.

Peter lays Stiles out on the bed and is quick to shuffle up behind him and wrap an arm around him, claiming his position as the big spoon. Chris is still leaning back against the headboard, looking slightly dazed.

Peter huffs out a laugh against the nape of Stiles’s neck. “I do believe two wolves was one too many for Christopher to cope with.”

“Lies,” Chris says, and does his best to sit up straight and look alert. He lasts all of three seconds before giving up and slithering downwards, ending up laying on the bed on Stiles’s other side. “Maybe,” he amends with a lopsided grin.

“Shame,” Peter says, far too casually. “I was going to let you have my ass as well. But if you’re too tired, I guess we’ll call it a night.”

Chris struggles to prop himself up on his elbows. “I never said that,” he says hastily. “I’m happy to fuck you into next week. I just...might need some recovery time first.”

Peter laughs, the sound warm and rich as it washes over Stiles, and he might be biased due to his gloriously fucked-out state, but Stiles thinks it might be one of his favorite sounds in the world. He knows he needs to move soon, shower and clean up, because lord knows he’s a mess, but for now, he’s content.

Right until five minutes later, when the drying jizz on his belly starts to itch.

He sits up with a sigh and says, “I gotta clean up, so why don't I do that, and Chris can have his nap, then you two can fuck and I’ll watch.”

Chris gives him a devilish grin. “That could work. Peter? Can your needy ass wait an hour?”

“I suppose,” Peter says with a put-upon sigh. He eases out the side of the bed, and Stiles misses him immediately. “Come on sweetheart, I’ll help you clean up. I do love it when you’re wet and slippery.”

Stiles takes the offered hand and follows Peter to the bathroom, and it’s as they’re walking through the door that Peter calls loudly over his shoulder, “We'll let the old man get his rest.”

“I’m only three years older than you, asshole!” Chris shouts in mock outrage, but Stiles can hear the laughter in his voice.

By the time he and Peter emerge from the bathroom half an hour later (because washing inevitably led to other things, like a hand on the back of Stiles’s neck guiding him gently to his knees, and Stiles took his time, reveling in going slow, making it good for his Sir), Chris is fast asleep, mouth open and snoring, sprawled across the middle of the bed. At a gesture from Peter, Stiles obediently gets a warm washcloth and cleans Chris up, and then he and Peter drape themselves across a side of naked barman each and catch a nap themselves.

When Chris finally wakes two hours later, he fucks Peter fair into the middle of next week just like he promised, and Stiles watches.

And it’s just as hot as it was last time, and Stiles definitely gets off, just like he gets off later when, at Chris’s suggestion, Peter impales Chris on his pierced dick while Stiles fucks Chris’s mouth, making him the very willing meat in a werewolf sandwich. Somehow though, Stiles doesn’t enjoy it quite as much this time, not now he’s a wolf.

Maybe, he reflects later, it’s because someone was touching what’s his.

* * *

It’s a couple of evenings later that Stiles brings it up. He waits until Peter's relaxing with his laptop and a beer, because he doesn’t want this to be a big thing, he just needs to make his feelings known. “So, Chris.”

“Not even slightly interested,” Peter says without looking up from his laptop.

“You don't even know what I was going to say,” Stiles frowns, slightly put out. He’d thought he was being subtle.

“You were going to ask if I would ever want something more permanent, and you were trying to figure out how to tell me you don’t.” Peter does look up then, one eyebrow raised.

Stiles deflates. “That. Are you sure you wouldn’t want -”

Peter sighs, closes his laptop, and gets up, stretching before walking over to where Stiles is standing. He drapes his arms over Stiles’s shoulders and presses their foreheads together. “Sweetheart, even though we both enjoy having Christopher in our bed, I don’t need it to be happy. I invited him because it was something you seemed keen to explore. But as far as I’m concerned? You’re it for me.”

Stiles gets the warm fuzzy glow he always gets when Peter says stuff like that. He _knows_ they’re it for each other, they're _married_ , for god's sake, but the confirmation still settles something in him. “Chris is…’” he searches for the words, “like, he's a great guy, and hot like woah, but…”

“You’re done?” Peter says, with a hint of a smile.

“Yeah.” Stiles relaxes.

“Excellent,’ Peter says. “I much prefer it when you’re all mine.”

“Me too,” Stiles says. He hesitates before confessing, “It bothered my wolf.”

Peter looks far too pleased at that. “That’s because your wolf knows you’re meant to be with me.”

“No,”Stiles clarifies. “It bothered my wolf when Chris touched _you_.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Peter to look _more_ smug, but somehow he manages it. He places a soft kiss on Stiles’s temple and says, “Well obviously. Your wolf doesn’t like to share what’s yours. And I’m all yours.”

Stiles thinks about that, nodding slowly. “I always thought you were the one who owned me,” he says at last, fiddling with his triskele pendant unconsciously, “but I guess it goes both ways.”

Peter smirks. “For the record sweetheart, I love you, but I absolutely _do_ own your ass.” He backs Stiles against the kitchen counter and grinds against him, letting Stiles feel the growing hardness in his jeans. “Now be a good boy and go get naked, and then I want you on your knees. This cock isn’t going to suck itself, pet.”

Peter steps back to let Stiles move, sending him on his way with a playful slap to his thoroughly owned ass, and any tension Stiles had been carrying leaves him, his whole body relaxing at the prospect of willing submission. Stiles grins back over his shoulder as he scampers to obey, and gives the only appropriate response.

_“Yes, Sir.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, I've been off-grid for a few weeks because a) work has been preparing for the shitshow that is stocktake, and b) [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/pseuds/DiscontentedWinter) and I have been neck deep in our next book!  
> You can read all about it on [Tumblr](https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/629629853128441856/elf-defence)


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